


Another Choice

by satismagic



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-09
Updated: 2010-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satismagic/pseuds/satismagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is a spinoff of my Elrond centric stories. It ties in loosely with A Choice of Love and Life though it obviously takes place a few thousand years later than that story. ElrondOFC. Story on hiatus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J. R. R .Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters that belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the private enjoyment of readers at FanFictionNet, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

## Another Choice

He sat very still, in this large room filled with some of the world's best paintings. His dark hair was cut down to a stubble, revealing shapely, and very pointy ears that adorned a face any of the old masters would have been delighted to paint.

She knew that at least four of the other female visitors in the room were actually not looking at the paintings at all, but surreptitiously staring at this man. This, even more than his attractiveness, made her finally approach him.

She sat down on the bench next to him. "Hi, I'm Corinne," she said, holding out her hand. "Are you enjoying Franz Marc as much as I am?"

She waited for a moment, taking in the slight smile tugging at the corners of his wide mouth. "Are you aware that you look like an elf straight out of 'Lord of the Rings'?"

He raised a delicately slanted eyebrow at her. Now he was definitely grinning at her. "Really? I thought all of _them_ had long hair. And my ears don't come off."

"Are you sure?" she asked and clapped her hand to her mouth in embarrassment.

"Quite sure," he countered. "And no, I am not offering you to try and pull them off. Instead, might I invite you to join me for a drink?"

His eyes were a peculiar grey shade, almost silver – really a bright colour, but there were shadows lost within them that were… _strange_. As if… Almost as if… She shook off her musings and smiled at him. "I would love to, Mr…?"

" _Anderson?_ " he suggested, but then he smiled, an unexpectedly warm, young, smile. "My name is Sternendom. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

He rose from the bench in the fluid motion of a dancer or an artist. _Or of someone who has had tens of thousands of years to practice such a simple movement…_ she thought absentmindedly. He offered her his arm, and she accepted.

As they left the exhibition, she felt the envious glances of several women burning on her back. She caught a glance from the corners of his eyes and realized that he was not only well aware of the reaction of the other women, but that he had been _waiting_ for someone to approach him, for someone to treat him as if he was real. _To prove to himself that he was real?_ She frowned. She was not used to having such strange thoughts upon meeting an attractive man.

She cast another furtive glance at his handsome features. He looked so _sad!_ Yes, that was it. He looked as if he had lost his happiness more than a thousand years ago.

He looked as if he _was_ for real, was her next thought.

Her heart beat grew almost painfully heavy.

"You… you look so… _sad_ ," she heard herself say, and what was that for a thing to say to an attractive man she had only just met! "As if you… as if you haven't been happy for a thousand years."

He halted his stride, in the middle of the busy hall and turned to her. His silver eyes were veiled, the skin seemed drawn tight over bones that were nobler and more delicate than those of ordinary human beings

"Maybe because this is true," he replied simply. He hesitated, then continued. "Do you still want to have a drink with me?"

For a long moment she simply stared at him. Then she slowly replied, all at once acutely aware that this one, short answer might change her whole life.

"Yes," she said. "Of course."

 **oooOooo  
**

* * *

 **oooOooo**

To her surprise he took her to one of the best bars in the city, a modern, stylish place that had been the topic of several magazines during the last few months. Corinne had heard from a colleague that normally you had to book at table at least eight weeks in advance by now. But her strange companion only smiled at the bouncer, an intimidating giant in a sleek black suit, who nodded almost deferentially before he stepping back to admit them to the bar with a gesture that looked almost like a small bow.

Although it was still early, barely six pm, the place was already full. Corinne scanned the crowd. There were rich and doubtlessly powerful businessmen and businesswomen, who obviously knew the proprietor well enough to be able to just drop in before another few hours of work. There were a couple of tourists, gazing around with round eyes as if they were in yet another museum. Two or three tables were filled with groups of young people who had obviously a reason to celebrate. Corinne guessed that these were tables that had actually been ordered eight weeks in advance.

And then there was a small table at the back, right at the window front with a breathtaking view across the city. A small red sign sat in the middle of the table: "reserved". Mr Sternendom led her straight to that table. With an elegant, practiced movement, he pulled out the chair for her.

"But it's reserved," she objected, raising inquiring eyes to his - and almost gasped. She had always been a girl who fell for beautiful eyes. But his eyes ... whenever she looked into his eyes, she felt completely mesmerized, and an embarrassing spark of desire sizzled through her body.

He awarded her a faint smile, and his eyes grew a hue cooler and more distant, as if he was aware of the effect he was having on her. "Yes," he replied. "For me. Jack keeps that table reserved so that I can drop in whenever I feel like it."

"Wow," was her undignified reaction. She sounded and behaved like a silly teenager. She had stop this. For once she'd been asked out by a beautiful, enigmatic, and obviously rich man. She had to live up to that date, no matter how he affected her. Flashing him a smile, she settled down. "Thank you."

He nodded and took the armchair on the other side of the table. Half hidden in the shadows of the corner, he was able to watch the entire room and to enjoy the view. Mr Sternendom definitely had taste. And an eye for details.

"Well," she breathed. "I never imagined I might end up in such a stylish place tonight. This is a grand surprise."

Another small smile. "It is important to hold on to the small joys of life. I recommend the martini cocktails. They are really excellent."

"Shaken or stirred?"

He just lifted one of his dark, elegant eyebrows. She couldn't help chuckling. All at once, for no reason that she could put a finger on, she felt at ease. "I'll go along. You know this place - I've just drooled over descriptions in the 'Hottest Hundred'-list."

Sternendom only cast a quick glance in the direction of the bar and a waiter appeared with a jug of ice water and two glasses. He quickly placed the water on the table, then smiled expectantly at her companion.

"Mr Sternendom, what a pleasure to have you here tonight. What can I do for you?"

"The usual for me, and one of your golden martinis for the lady. And maybe some plate with something to snack on."

The waiter smiled and nodded. "How about our daily selection? Plates for two?"

"Yes, please."

"Very good, sir. I'll be right back." The waiter disappeared in the crowd.

"Well." Corinne studied the face of her mysterious escort. She was determined not to allow any awkward silences to grow between them. The one time she went on an adventure date would be a success, she promised herself. "Drinks and snacks. That sounds almost like a date, Mr Sternendom. Or do you have a first name, too?"

"Several, in fact. You may call me El." Amusement flashed in his eyes, a grin seemed to tug at the corners of his mouth.

"El?" Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. "El like ... the Hebrew word for God or El like the Spanish article or El like Ely?"

He shook his head. "Just El. Please."

She winced. She had only wanted to be witty. "I'm sorry."

Luckily their drinks arrived at that moment, and she was saved from the dreaded awkward silence by the opportunity to admire her cocktail, to smell and to savour it.

"This is really a beautiful drink," she exclaimed. The golden colour, the slice of orange, the rim of brown sugar, the leaf draped around the straw ... and then the tart, bittersweet taste ... like the sunset on the last day of a perfect vacation. She sighed happily and sipped again.

"Thank you for the tip."

El smiled. "There's no one who does martini cocktails quite like Jack in this city."

"But you're not one for cocktails?" Corinne nodded at the glass of whisky sitting in front of the man.

"Sometimes. Not today." He gazed at her in silence for a moment. His extraordinary eyes darkened. The thin stubble of his hair looked thicker and darker in the shadows. The pointy tips of his pale ears all the more surprising. "Why did you approach me in the museum?"

"In order to be asked out for a drink by a handsome man?" She regretted her attempt to be flippant instantly, when he leaned back just a little, his posture growing just a little stiff, just a little less than relaxed.

She sighed and stared into her drink. "To be perfectly honest, I'm not quite sure."

After taking another sip of her cocktail, she raised her head again and faced him. "I cannot deny that you initially caught my attention because of your looks."

Raised eyebrows and a quivering lip hinted at amusement, at least. She rolled her eyes and lifted her hands. "Well, what can I say? I am only human! And you do ... look different. For some reason I had the feeling you belonged more to the pictures than any of us, as if - as if you were at home within those pictures. What a strange thought! And then I did not like how some of the other visitors stared at you. Noticing an attractive man is one thing, but outright ogling?"

"So you did not, in fact 'ogle' me?" The grin was broad and audible.

She hid her face behind her glass before replying diffidently. "If the circumstances had been different, I might have. I think I mentioned it: I'm only human." She put her glass down. "But not there, not today. I may be totally off, but for some reason I felt that you had come to look at the pictures because you were lonely. You looked so sad. Almost like - almost as if you were looking at old photographs of long ago, and happier days." She frowned and wrinkled her nose. "Okay, this sounds like a load of melodramatic bullshit. I'm sorry. Maybe I should have left it at 'Yes, I was trying to hit on you, Mr Sternendom'."

Now he laughed, a strange, dark, bittersweet laugh. It reminded her of the taste of her martini cocktail. "But that wouldn't have been the truth, no matter that you are 'only human'."

For a moment he turned his whisky glass idly in his hands. Then he gazed at her again, his face opener than before, his expression not quite as guarded. She caught another hint of the emotions she had almost believed to be nothing but figments of her imagination but a moment ago: a bone-deep sadness, and loneliness that clung to his skin like heavy perfume.

"You are different, too, I think. Corinne."

"Am I?" She knew that her voice betrayed bitterness. "I don't think so."

Hers was not an unusual or a tragic story. She had been in love once, truly, and deeply in love. But he had not been right for her. She had not been right for him. He had found a better partner. A partner who really made him happy. Their separation had been civilized. And by now she was good friends with his wife. Three or four times a year they met up, usually for a day trip with the kids ... And then. She tried not to think of it. And then ... three years ago, he had died. Cancer of the stomach. It had been incredibly fast and incredibly cruel. She had tried to keep in touch with his widow, but somehow that had not worked without him. And then ... it was already so long ago that they had separated it sometimes seemed to her that it had happened in another life, in another age ... well, somehow or other it had simply never clicked for her since then. Things had never been good quite good enough for her to want to change the arrangements of her life, her career. She'd probably got simply too set in her ways to meet her special someone by now. A few years ago she'd stopped dating. It was just too much of a hassle. She was happy the way she lived her life. Free, independent. And there were always friends and colleagues and acquaintances. It was not as if there was no one who was close to her. She sighed. Only, there was really no one who was really close to her. Sometimes, she was very lonely. Not necessarily for a man. But for someone who would ease that ache in her heart. Someone who would know her, who would really know her. Who would ask "How are you?" and expect an honest answer.

He shook his head lightly. "You know about being lonely. I can see that in your eyes."

"Maybe a little," she admitted. She turned to the window and the view of the city. "But I'm hardly special for that. Look at that! I read the other day that this city has the highest rate of singles in the world. People are always so busy with their lives that they never have the chance to find someone to settle down with. Or even to settle down on their own. There's been some discussion how this will affect our health system in thirty years, when all those well-off singles start growing old ..."

She sighed and turned her attention back to him. Her heart stirred when she looked at him. There was something about him that touched her deeply, deeper than the liquid roll and pull of desire that his presence also provoked within her.

She opened her mouth, then mentally shook her head at herself, and just moistened her lips and pressed her teeth together firmly. He was studying her face intently.

Suddenly he bent forwards, forcing her to meet his eyes again. "I am attracted to you, too," he said in a low voice. "You are a beautiful, unusual woman."

She gasped.

"But I cannot give you what you seek," he went on. "There is no love left in my heart to give to anyone. My love died many, many years ago."

She felt her mouth gape, and her heart started to beat faster. For a moment she was dazed and did not know what to say, or even to think. On the one hand his words could be interpreted as one of the bluntest invitations to a one-night-stand she had ever heard. On the other hand what he said sounded so ... sincere and so sad ...

"You certainly don't lose any time playing games, Mr Sternendom." Her voice sounded dry and detached.

Those eyebrows again. "I am too old for a certain kind of games. Did you hear what I said? I cannot give you what you are looking for."

"I'm not deaf." She knew that she sounded testy. This unexpected rendezvous was not going the way she had imagined it would. She found she could not look away. Those deep, sad, silvery eyes, those noble, clear features. If he let his hair grow out, it would probably turn out to be black and silky like any good romance novel sable. And damn, she still wanted to touch those ears. She sighed. And those lips ... His lips were just as beautiful as the rest of him.

"May I please?" the waiter interrupted them politely.

Corinne almost jumped from her chair, her heart pounding now, her face flushing with heat.

"Appetizers for two." The waiter smiled eagerly as he set out plates and a huge tray heaped with various tapas. "I hope you enjoy the selection."

A moment later he was back and placed a bottle of white wine in a cooler on the table. "With special regards from Mr Jack. He hopes you have a nice evening."

Sternendom frowned, but in the end he smiled. "Please pass on my thanks. I've received the message. Tell Jack that I am enjoying myself. Or trying very hard, at least. Anything else?"

The waiter fidgeted a little.

El frowned. "Yes? A message, I presume?"

"Uh, sir. Indeed, sir. Ah ..."

El just shook his head. "Let's hear it. And don't worry -" He glanced at the waiter's name sign. "Tonio. I won't hold your boss's messages against you."

"Ah." Tonio cleared his throat. "Thank you, sir. I am supposed to tell you -" He cast a nervous glance at Corinne. She snorted.

"Please go ahead, Tonio. I won't up and run in a snit, I promise."

"Well, ma'am. Sir. I'm supposed to say that you please should not scare her off by being all grim and - uh - 'dour'." The waiter gulped audibly.

Corinne broke out laughing, and even solemn Mr Sternendom's expression seemed to quiver with barely contained mirth.

"Don't worry, Tonio, he's not being very terribly grim and ... 'dour' tonight. Tell ... Mr Jack was it?"

The waiter nodded.

"Tell Mr Jack not to worry."

Tonio actually bowed to them, and left quickly, the set of his shoulders betraying relief.

"So you and Jack go way back, hm?"

El shrugged and exhaled his breath in a deep sigh. "A long way, yes."

"That's good." Maybe she should call Karen again, one of these days. She turned her attention back to the man on the other side of the table. He had not touched any of the tapas, although the smell made her stomach grumble regardless of attraction and 'dour' conversation.

"You said that you cannot give me what I am looking for. Let's leave aside that I had not even mentioned that I am, in fact, looking for anything. Somehow I doubt that you often invite women just like that." Her eyes flew to the bar, where Tonio was busy with a tray.

Sternendom inclined his head.

"So I think you asked me out for a reason." She played with her straw for a bit, trying to gather her thoughts. She could literally feel his eyes on her. A heavy, enticing, intimate weight. It had been a long time since she had experienced flurries of desire quite like this.

She inhaled deeply. You only live once, she told herself. Maybe it's time for bold decisions, since playing along got you nowhere in years and years.

"So you may not be able to give _me_ what _I_ am looking for. But somehow I am beginning to think that _you_ are looking for something, too."

She had his complete attention now. His eyes were blazing, he was staring at her so hard. Her heart was beating so heavily that she could feel the rhythm of her pulsing blood in her ears.

"Maybe _I_ can give _you_ what you are looking for?"

 **oooOooo**

* * *

 **A/N:** This story is a spin-off of my Elrond centric stories, it ties in loosely with "A Choice of Love and Life" though it obviously takes place a few thousand years later than that story.

 **  
**  
**Please feel free to leave a comment!**   
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JunoMagic


	2. Another Choice Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He put down the glass and leaned back. The expression in his eyes made her stomach clench and sent shivers down her spine: need, denial, pain. An abyss of pain. _Grief. Loss._

He put down the glass and leaned back. The expression in his eyes made her stomach clench and sent shivers down her spine: need, denial, pain. An abyss of pain. _Grief. Loss._

She winced. Had she been hitting on someone who'd only recently lost a spouse or life partner? Picking up her cocktail again she glanced at him under the cover of the glass.

When she had first seen him in the museum, aloof, elegant, with that slightly sneering smile, she'd have put his age at around her own, or possibly even younger, at around thirty. The arrival in the bar had made her reconsider, and she'd mentally pushed his age back to around forty. Just a few years older than she was. Now she was wondering if he was a fit fifty-something. It was impossible to guess how old he was. There was a timeless look to his face. No wrinkles, save some barely visible lines around eyes, mouth and on his forehead, which were not signs of age, but suggestions of common moods, of habitual expressions.

He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, his expression was unreadable again, but the lines of his face appeared a little harsher. As if he was willing himself not to think, not to remember, not to feel ...

She felt like closing her eyes, too. Instead she sighed and put down her glass. This time she met his gaze without flinching. She knew about grief and pain.

"I am very sorry for your loss," she said simply.

"Ahhh." He released his breath in a deep, painful sigh. For a split second, the mask was stripped from his face once more. Corinne shuddered at the raw agony that lay beneath the smooth, aloof mask that this man kept so painstakingly in place. El seemed to freeze, as he tried to compose himself. His face, his whole body became completely still. Corinne couldn't help staring, her heartbeat heavy. He barely looked human now, but like a statue. As if he were beyond time, beyond this world.

Yet another sigh. Careful. Slow. Corinne blinked. The mask was back in place, but as she studied his face, she thought there was a crack in his armour. Somehow, he looked more real now than he had before. But she still wasn't able to guess his age.

"She has been dead for a long time," he replied. His voice sounded like his sigh, soft, every word carefully enunciated.

"I'm really very sorry," Corinne repeated. She searched for words. It was always awkward at moments like this to find words to express her sentiments. In the end she looked him straight in the eyes, those beautiful, silvery-grey eyes, now so carefully veiled. "Your - your wife was very lucky to be loved so much," she added at last. A man who loved so deeply would have made the woman of his heart his wife.

A tender smile suddenly lit up his face. A swift memory of long-ago happiness drenched his eyes in liquid silver. "I was the lucky one."

For a long while they gazed at one another in silence.

"Thank you, Corinne." A pause. "About your question -"

Her heartbeat sped up. Somehow she'd assumed he would not answer it after admitting to his grief. Her throat constricted. Even if it was only ... for ... she forced herself to be honest to herself, at least within the confines of her own mind. Even if it was only for a night, would she be able - could she - would she - as she was not the one he really wanted -

"I don't want to answer your question here and now," El said. "But if you have time I would like to invite you to accompany me to the West Coast?"

"To California?" She stared at him, her mouth open.

He shook his head. "No - Oregon."

Corinne blinked. On the one hand, that sounded like an offer straight from a movie like "Pretty Woman" or something like that. On the other hand ... Oregon?

She swallowed, trying to come up with a sensible reply. "But - but you don't know me at all," she said finally.

He grinned at her and unexpected mischief flashed in his eyes. "And you don't know me. No risk, no fun."

"Right," she said, her mouth suddenly dry. "I assume you will promise now that no harm will come to me."

His face fell. But he did not look away. "I cannot promise that. I wish I could. But I can only promise that I will do my best to keep you from harm and not to cause you unnecessary pain." His silver eyes seemed to bore into her. "I meant it when I said that I cannot give you what you are looking for. And I am aware even now that this will inevitably cause you pain if you pursue the course of action you suggest with your question. You have to believe me: I do not wish to hurt you."

"But you will - if I come with you."

"I am afraid so," he agreed.

"But if I come with you, you will answer my question?" she asked. Her stomach fluttered, her heartbeat seemed to race in an excited, irregular rhythm. But she found she could not tear his eyes away from his. Desire flared through her body, and curiosity tickled her mind. Deep within her heart, she hoped that she knew how he would answer her. And at the moment, she did not care for whatever pain this answer might cause her in the future, she realized.

She smiled at him. "An adventure trip sounds wonderful."


	3. Another Choice Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the morning, just after she had packed her suitcase and bag, she was convinced that he would not come, that the invitation had just been flirtation, and not meant seriously at all.

In the morning, just after she had packed her suitcase and bag, she was convinced that he would not come, that the invitation had just been flirtation, and not meant seriously at all.

But at eight o'clock sharp a sleek black Mercedes pulled up below the window of her living room. Her stomach tightened with nerves, and her hand was cold when she picked up her luggage. When she closed the door of her apartment and turned the key, the sounds of these everyday activities seemed to echo around her as if there was some special significance to them today. As if she'd never be back ...

Before she opened the door of the car, she called upon her coolest and most self-assured smile. The smile she aimed for before meeting an especially difficult client. "A Mercedes? And no chauffeur? That is unexpected."

He quirked one of his dark slanted eyebrows. "I don't like BMWs – they are a bit too volatile for my tastes. And I have always liked to be in control."

With a swift movement, uncoiling himself from behind the wheel with the boneless elegance of a snake, he was out of the seat and moving around the car to meet her. He curled his fingers over hers, to relieve her of her suitcase and her bag, standing right in front of her, and very close to her. "It is good to see you again, Corinne."

She swallowed. Her pulse was vibrating in her throat. "I did not believe you would show up."

"Why not?"

She shrugged. "Such things don't happen in real life."

Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. "Sometimes, they do. Though maybe it would be better, if they did not."

Then he took her luggage and quickly stowed it in the trunk of the car.

The trip to the airport went by in a blur of speed. El Sternendom was weaving through the traffic as if he wanted to win a race, silent, with perfect control of the car's speed and manoeuvrability. He was a relaxed driver, in complete control of the powerful machine. It occurred to her to wonder if he had a pilot's licence.

As it turned out, he did, but for this flight he would be relying on the services of his pilot so he could spend the time on board with her. She was not surprised that the plane was another sleek and powerful machine. Only this one was elegant in silver, not black. The red carpet leading up to the plane conjured up another reminiscence of "Pretty Woman". But she was not a prostitute. And she had stopped believing in knights in shining armour a long time ago.

She laughed out loud at the name. It was called _"Vingilot"_. A long time Tolkien fan, Corinne recognized the name at once.

"So are you really a Tolkien fan, or is it just because of the ears?" she asked.

El gave one of his very French shrugs, accompanied by another delicately lifted eyebrow. She rolled her eyes at him, and climbed up into the plane.

At take-off she was not sure if it was the plane or the man that made her stomach flip and tighten. They were seated in comfortable armchairs with covers made of soft beige leather. His piercing eyes locked with hers, a faint smile indicated that he was not completely unaware of the effect he had on her.

Once they were in the air, he disappeared behind the seats to switch on classical music and produce a bottle of the finest Tuscan _prosecco_ Corinne had ever tasted.

"Exsultate justi? Isn't that a little dramatic?"

He grinned at her, his eyes sparkling. "What could be more dramatic than flying through the clouds with a beautiful woman?"

She shook her head and raised her glass in appreciation of that compliment. The rest of the flight was a kind of visual torture. Hours with nothing to do but look at a ... he was not handsome, she decided. He was _beautiful_. A strange, sad beauty that tugged at her heart the way some paintings did.

He seemed content to sit with her in silence, answering her questions, but not making any attempts to keep a conversation going. As if he was wavering between the exultation expressed in the music they had listened to after the start and deep, silent introspection.

The silence did nothing for her peace of mind, as it allowed her think about him, to wonder about him, and contemplate how fucking crazy she was in simply upping and awaying with him like that. Not that it had been much of an act, with never using up her vacation days anyway and no family to inform of her whereabouts.

For a while she entertained the crazy notion that he was actually giving her a few hours' worth of time to just look at him and think about him on purpose, because although El had finally leaned back in his seat and lowered his lids, she could have sworn that he was neither sleeping nor dozing.

And God help her, whether he had intended it or not, that was just what she did.

 _Watching him_.

She passed an hour just admiring the shape of his skull, trying to determine whether he would look better with his hair all grown out and long, like one of Tolkien's elves, or in that short blue-black stubble. In the end she settled on the "damn you all to hell"-stubble. It accentuated the delicate curve of his skull and those amazing ears. And how could such an accident of nature look so utterly erotic, she wondered. Or had she only spent too much time watching "Lord of the Rings"?

She probably spent another hour gazing at his face. Those wide, sensuous lips. So serious. The long, proud nose, the chin decisive, the bone structure prominent and clear cut. Clear cut. A description she must have read a thousand times in romance novels, without really understanding what it meant. Like a statue, she mused. Only alive, breathing, just a little less than perfect. Which was of course what made him look so ... _perfect._ Slender, of course. But not thin. Or rather, on the delicate verge between lithe, but strong, slender, but substantial enough to feel secure in his arms, and ... brittle?

When the thought occurred to her that even his knees were actually beautiful, she shook herself out of her reverie. _Get a grip on yourself, Corinne, you're getting even crazier than this situation warrants,_ she told herself firmly.

She was very grateful when they arrived. At their destination another Mercedes was waiting for them, this time dark metallic blue, but just as big and classy as the first one.

"Where are we going?" she asked at last, as they sped out of the town.

"To the coast," he replied, his eyes on the road. "I think I mentioned that I've got property there."

Raising an eyebrow at him would have little effect in the car. Additionally, Corinne was aware that she could not move her eyebrows separately in a graceful or meaningful manner. In the end she settled for asking another question. "What kind of property? Is it far?"

"About an hour, and I'd rather not spoil the surprise." He gave her a quick smile.

Her heart promptly sped up, and she tried to concentrate on his earlier words: _'I cannot give you what you are looking for.'_

Yet here she was, in a state she'd never visited before, with a man she didn't know at all, offering to ... do for him whatever he needed. And she rather had the feeling that he wouldn't have brought her here, if he were not willing to accept whatever she had to offer.

She rubbed her forehead. After the noise of the flight and with the tension of too many thoughts chasing each other in her mind, she found herself fighting a headache. She stared at her hands, studying the lines on her palms. But they did not give anything away. They never had. The future was all hers, and all unknown. If this was her way of having a midlife crisis or the most glorious adventure trip of her life remained to be seen.

She closed her eyes.

"We have arrived." His breath was gentle and spicy at her throat, as he leaned over her to loosen her seat-belt. Her pulse sped up, she could taste her excitement at the back of her tongue. Nearby she heard the rush of waves. From farther away shrilled the cries of sea-gulls. "Come with me."

She blinked, slightly disoriented. Before she could move, he had slipped out of the car and was opening her door, holding a hand out to her. She allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

"Turn around," he commanded her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he turned her westwards.

"Oh!" she gasped. The car was parked at the end of a crumbling driveway that led down to a sandy beach in the sheltered curve of a cove. Beyond the beach a path led up on low cliffs that jutted out into a ocean. At their end a white lighthouse sparkled between the lighter blue of the sky and the darker hue of the ocean.

She had never seen anything like this before, so free, so lonely, and so beautiful.

"My house," he murmured.

"Oh," she repeated. She was glad that he held her, or her suddenly weak knees would have made her stumble. "This ... this is amazing." She turned towards him, all at once acutely aware of their close proximity. "Beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it. Shall we?" He did not move, waiting for to regain her balance. When she felt surer of her feet, she nodded. "I think I'm all here now."

"Good."

He took her luggage out of the trunk. For himself, he had only a black travelling bag. He allowed her to carry her own bag, but would not relinquish her small suitcase to her.

"It is not as far as it looks," he assured her.

"Then you could allow me to carry my own things," she retorted. But he only shook his head and smiled.

On the craggy promontory the wind was cool and strong. As she looked across the width of whitely crested waves to the other end of the cove, she glimpsed the glittering lights of windows in the sunshine a few miles northwards. The settlement to which the lighthouse belonged.

Then they stood in front of the lighthouse. El produced a key and after a moment held the door open to allow her to enter his house.

They stood on a landing above a large living room. The roar of the waves was softened to a muted rhythm of waves and wind. This room at the foot of the lighthouse was square, with a high ceiling and columns that separated the living space from the landing with its dining area and spacious kitchenette. A front of glass windows and doors led out onto a terrace. Comfortable sofas and arm chairs in a pale, off-white colour were arranged on a smooth wooden floor. To the right an open fireplace promised warmth for cold evenings. To the left of the door a spiral stair led up to the next story and she suspected that a bathroom could be found behind a door to the right.

He allowed her to take everything in, waiting patiently until she turned towards him. For a long moment they stood silent in front of each other. Corinne suddenly wondered about her question and the promised answer. He had promised to give her his reply here, but when?

His eyes met hers. She held his dark gaze unwavering. Her decision had been made when she closed the door of her apartment behind her.

"The ... bedroom is upstairs," he said in quiet voice.

With a deep breath she exhaled her tension.


End file.
